History Repeats
by BarrelRacer13
Summary: He was from WW2, and died in 1945. Now, he's been reborn into the demigod world, but the weird thing is...He remembers everything. He remembers hiding, working, exhaustion, and finally his own death. And what's worse: He has to relive it in modern day times, with power seeking demigods, angry gods, and people who were once his enemy.
1. Chapter 1

**I've been thinking of this for a while now, and I'll say it now: I'm going to need a little help with it. I need you people who find themselves liking this story to pester me, poke me, beat me with a stick if you have to. I've left behind a lot of stories in the past, and I want to break that habit with this story, and my ****Breaking The Oath**** story. **

**I need more than this put on an alert list or a favorites. I need you people to review, message, find me on other websites and make me update this story. **

**This is a historical fiction, so I'll be combining two of my favorite things: writing and history. This is will hopefully keep me writing this. **

_My name is Peter van Pels. Some of you may know me by the name Peter van Daan, from Anne Frank's diary. I thought after the first holocaust, after suffering and dying, that I would finally get to rest in peace. And I did, for a few years. But now, it's time for history to repeat itself. _

Nico's POV

I was in Colorado, outside a small high school where a satyr swears there is a demigod who's important for what's happening. I was sent to see what exactly is so great out this demigod. According the satyr, he doesn't have a strong smell, and he's clearly not a child of the big three, and probably a child of a minor god. Apparently, most people thought the kid was a freak, because of his random outbursts and his strange behavior.

According to Bo –that's the satyr's name-, this kid has strange habits. For one, he seems to guard his food when he eats. He also tends to mutter under his breath to himself, and when he gets scared, annoyed, or angry, he gets either a German or a Dutch accent, mainly German though. I guess it depends. He also claims that he remembers what WW2 was like for Jews, and that he was there for everything. He's had breakdowns in class apparently when the teacher starts to explain how the Diary of Anne Frank was a huge help in learning what it was like for Jews in hiding, and every calls him crazy for believing and putting 'we', 'I', 'us', and other words like that in essays for WW2 while talking about Anne Frank.

So, the kid is a total freak who probably needs some mental help. Father knows where the Jews killed in WW2 are, and he keeps them in a relaxing, calm part of the Underworld. It's really nice there, too. I've been there a few times to see if I can find any family, because apparently (I use that word a lot…) some people on my mom's side were Jewish. It's so calm and quiet and peaceful there, that it almost makes me want to lay down on the grass and take a nap.

Anyway, I waited for Bo to get to me before I walked into the school. I was coming as a "foreign exchange student" from Italy, which was kinda amusing. I don't think many people here know much Italian, and there are some words that they don't teach you in school….que the evil smirk.

So I followed Bo to his locker, which was right next to Sr. Freak. The kid who was supposed to be the demigod I was stalk- I mean watching, had his locker right next to Bo's, so I got a good look at him. He had short, neat brown hair and hazel looking eyes **((I cannot find any documents on what Peter van Pels eyes look like, or what hair color he had. So I'm describing him how I picture him.)) **He was tall and lanky, and gave off that 'awkward-teenage-boy' aura. He had strange things on the inside of his locker. One was a very old picture of a girl with short, almost curly looking hair and some strange writing underneath. He had a picture of a boy and two adults –probably parents. Both pictures were black and white, but the one with the boy and parents was strange. The boy almost looked like the teenager who's locker it was hanging in.

He also had one of the stars that was put on Jews' jackets taped up inside his locker. I found that an odd thing to see in a locker. The kid was muttering, and it took me a while to realize why I couldn't understand what he was saying: He was speaking German. Perfect, fluent German, not a single mistake that I heard. Of course, I'm no expert in speaking German, but I've been to Germany enough times to know what it should sound like.

He shoved his books into a backpack and then left. He had a strange walk, almost like his feet were blistered on the bottoms, and he had no choice but to walk on them.

"His name is Peter." Bo said, stand and closing his locker. "His last name is Van Pels, but with a lower case 'v'. He yells at the teacher when it's wrong. He also keeps a sweat band on his right wrist all the time. Not sure why. He refuses to take it off for anyone, and won't tell anyone why he wears it. He's strange."

"He had that star in his locker…" Ah, who am I kidding. I'm terrible at history, religions, and anything to do with living people.

"The Star Of David." Bo said. "The strangest thing about that though, is he says he isn't Jewish. He doesn't believe in any religion."

"Weird." I said. He nodded, and we walked to his homeroom, which was also with Peter. Peter sat away from the others, ignoring the paper throw at his head, ignoring the sneers and the jokes. He was numb to it all. And when the bell rang for first period to begin, I saw just how numb to the world he really is. The school bullies are easy to point out. Just how the look, and you know.

Well, those school bullies walked over to Peter and shoved him against a locker. I saw Peter wince and grunt a little, but he didn't do anything. The bullies kicked him. He only flinched a little. They started to hit and punch him and kick him harder and harder, until they got him on his knees. But the most he did was push himself closer to the lockers until a teacher came and pulled the other boys away from him.

Peter stood up, bruises covering his left side and a black eye forming along with a little blood on his face, and he stood there, perfectly still, eyes down. It was like he was waiting to get beat up again. And he just simply didn't care. I could tell he was in pain though. I could see it on his face that he was in agony, but he did his best to hide it. The teacher didn't do anything about Peter. He just pulled the bullies down to the principal's office.

And that's not where it ended. Peter showed himself to be emotionless almost all day. In social studies though, he showed a little aggression, correcting the teacher and protesting against what was said. But that was it. Then he was back to quiet, numb, careless Peter.

It wasn't until after school that I got to really talk to him.

"Peter!" Bo called. Peter stopped, and waited, but didn't look up. "We don't talk much, but want to go have some pizza?"

"Not really." Peter said.

"C'mon, it'll be fun. I know this really good place, free from stress, and great prices." Bo insisted. Peter started walking again.

"I'm not in the mood for pizza." He said.

"What about fast food then? Chinese? Japanese? Salads? Sandwiches!" Bo asked. Anything to get the kid to come.

"I'm fine." Peter said.

"Please come with us. I have someone here who believes what you say in history." Bo said. That made Peter stop and turn around. He looked me over, as if deciding if I was worthy of his attention. He made a sighing sound.

"Fine." He said. He didn't sound happy about it, but then again, he hasn't sounded very happy about anything. Or even emotional a little, other than in history. I think I'm going to get along with this kid, once the crazy is knocked outta him.

He followed me and Bo to the nearest Pizza place, all the while staring at the ground and not making any eye contact. He was still walking strange.

"Why are you walking like that?" I finally asked.

"Aren't you supposed to be from Italy and not speak any English?" He replied, all without looking.

"That was just a cover-up for something that will explained later." I said. "Answer my question."

I saw him wince when I said that. It was like 'answer my question' hadn't been said, but had been branded into his side like he was cow.

"Blisters." Peter said. "They haven't fully gone away yet."

"Blisters from what?" Bo asked. Lucky him…he never got blisters on his feet, because of his hooves.

"The shoes the Nazis would give us. Walking in them all day and most of the night and early in the morning in every possible weather and whatever conditions were thrown at us caused many blisters and feet problems." Peter said. By far the most I've heard him say all day.

"That war ended in 1945." I said. I had only recently learned that… "If you were alive back then, you would be a lot older….Like 70 years old or something."

"I would be about 86 years old." Peter said. "But I was there. I remember dying, and I remember waking up somewhere in this country two years ago."

"How would you be 86?" Math was never something I was good at.

"I was eighteen when I died." Peter said.

"Um…okay then." I was a little freaked out. I _knew _he had died, because I could tell. I'm the son of Hades. But at the same time, he didn't have the same aura that a re-born person would have. It was strange.

We went and got some pizza, all the while talking quietly about random stuff. I didn't bring up the demigod part yet. I just wanted to get Peter to trust me a little more. He ignored all questions about the sweat band on his wrist, ignored all questions about him speaking German and Dutch, ignored us when we asked what his favorite country was, and looked at me like I had twenty heads when I asked if had ever gone to a summer camp.

"The only times I was in a camp, was in 1945, sometime in the summer." Peter said. "So if a death camp counts as a summer camp, then yes, I have been to about four of them."

I tried not to snap at him and say that he didn't die in a camp, and that there's no way he was alive then unless he was locked in the Lotus casino and had his memories altered or something.

"Have you ever heard of the Lotus Casino?" I asked.

"No." He shook his head.

"Are you going to finish that crust?" Bo asked, reaching for the pizza crust. Peter smacked his hand hard enough to make it hit the table and cause Bo to yelp. Peter glared at the satyr and scooted away from him, keeping his food as far away as he could.

"Yes, I'm finishing the crust." He growled. I swear, he looked like a rabid animal. I've never seen someone so protective over their food before. Or maybe I have, but never paid any notice to it. Well, now that I think about it, Travis is very protective of his cake –no matter what flavor- and Percy doesn't let anyone but Annabeth steal his cookies.

About an hour later, we were walking outside again. That pizza didn't seem to be agreeing with Peter much though, judging from how his stomach would growl and he would occasionally let out a small groan. We kept our pace rather slow, so he would be able to keep up.

"Peter, do you know any Greek Mythology?" I asked.

"A little. I learned it once, but don't remember most of it." He said.

"Do you know what a demigod is?"

"The child of a god and mortal, right?"

"Yes." I nodded.

"Why do you suddenly bring up mythology?" he asked.

"Well….." And so the whole 'you're a demigod' speech began….

**Wow, this is a lot longer than I thought it would be. I'm going to try to update this again soon, but please review! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Two reviews. At least that tells me this isn't a total fail of a story yet. **

Peter's POV

This guy is insane. Gods being real? As if. If there were any divine beings out there, then where were they when millions of people were being tortured for absolutely no reason? Where were they on the days that we would sit in the Annex, scared witless, as a thief wandered around below our feet. Or those days when one of us was sick, yet couldn't relieve our aching chests by coughing or ease the pain in our stomachs by throwing up? Well….we could throw up, but we couldn't flush for a few hours, so it would smell. And anyone else who went down there would see everything that came up, and it normally made them sick to their stomachs as well.

I remember one time ending up with a stomach flu during the first winter there. It was terrible. I was ten times colder than the others were, but we couldn't spare any extra blankets. I couldn't eat, and was getting weaker by the day, until mother forced me to eat something, just to keep my strength up for a while. **((I'm not sure if that really happened, for little is known about Peter's time in the Annex.)) **

But back to what I was saying. This kid is insane. I bet he's related to Mussolini. Or Hitler, or the emperor of Japan during the war, whatever his name was.

Or at least, that what I thought about him before we were attacked. I had seen a little glitter through the trees, like scars, and the next thing I know, Bo and this Nico kid are pushing me behind them while some giant reptile thing attacked us.

Nico pulled out a sword –a long, jet black blade that scenes of deaths seemed to reflect on- and Bo had out reed pipes. I looked away from the sword. It was showing how I died. I heard another growl from behind me, and when I turned around, a huge black dog was there. I remembered the dogs they had in the concentration camps. They were mean, vicious dogs that hated everyone but their masters. This dog didn't look any nicer. It bared it's teeth, and started shaking. Dogs. I hate dogs. I like cats, not dogs.

I was so distracted by the fangs that were glittering in front of me, that I didn't notice the third monster show up. It looked like a dragon, but had seven heads. And I didn't notice it until I felt my wrist explode into unbearable pain. I'm very tolerant of pain. I've pretty much gone through hell and back. I survived Auschwitz, and I know what pain feels like. But this…this was different. I must've screamed, because I saw a dark arch and then the monster ripped his head away from me, taking my wrist band and some of my skin with it. I clutched my wounded hand with my good hand, refusing to look at it.

Everything was like a blur. I was dizzy and confused, and my hand hurt, but I refused to look. It would make me sick. The fear was close to making me sick! First this pizza making my stomach ache, and now this!

I felt someone grab my wrist, and instinct made me try to pull away, but I only managed in hurting myself, and I winced. I felt water pour over the wound….It was strange how water could be used that way. Back in the camps, water was like gold. We would never waste it on wounds. Nico started to pour this other stuff, a pinkish liquid, over it. I thought it would burn, but it was more like….like feeling the sun on your face after being inside for two years strait.

But then he turned my hand over, and I winced. B-67843 was permanently tattooed into my wrist. **((I wasn't able to find any record on what number Peter was given, so I made one up)) **

Nico looked at me, looking confused. I only turned my head, and refused to make eye contact.

After he cleaned up my wrist, and told me what had attacked us, we started walking again. My feet hurt…they always hurt. It wasn't long before we decided to just make camp for the night. Bo offered to take the first watch, and I was glad. I wanted to lay down and sleep. I used my backpack, which I had yet to get rid of, and used it had a pillow. The last thing I heard about something about shadow travel, and then I was asleep. And then the nightmares came.

_I was on the train again. My parents, Anne, Margot, Mr. and Mrs. Frank, and the dentist were all there, along with several other Jews. The train car was cramped, hot, and smelly. I could see out the window, and I rested my head on the little ledge by the window, trying to get some fresh air. I was feeling sick. The smell, the lack of sleep, the constant moving…none of it was good. I heard Mother sobbing, and Father trying to comfort her. That was one of the few times they ever got along. _

_I heard the sounds of train-sickness –which is much like being car sick- and the sounds of people groaning and sighing with relief when they could no longer hold their bladders. I know it's disgusting to think about, but it's true. There was nothing we could do about it. I was thirsty, hungry, tired….I glanced over at Anne, who was leaning heavily on her father, fast asleep. She was the lucky one. She got almost whatever she wanted, she had parents who didn't fight, and she had hope for the future. I lost all hope when we went into hiding. _

_I heard the cries of the smaller children in the car, the quiet, calming voices of parents and grandparents trying to comfort their young ones…I heard the sound of the train on the tracks, I heard my stomach's unhappy growling. My head was pounding. I was beyond tired. I was exhausted, and sick. _

"_Mother…" I groaned once, before almost collapsing onto her._

"_Peter!" She barely caught me, but she did anyway. And I was able to sleep. It was so uncomfortable, to sleep standing up, but she supported my weight, and I slept for a while. When I woke up, it was dawn. The pressure on my bladder was almost unbearable. I probably would still be sleeping if it weren't for that. I looked around, trying to see if there was any clear space…_

And then I woke up, confused. I didn't know where I was. At first, I thought I was in the Annex still. But then I saw the trees, and thought a concentration camp, but then I remembered. I'm somewhere in the park –I think- with Nico and Bo. And I needed to use the bathroom. I stood up and stumbled away from the others, relieving myself a few meters away. When I was done, I walked back to the camp.

"Who's there?" Nico swung his head back to where I was coming from.

"Jew B-67843." I said automatically. "I mean…Peter."

"What are you doing awake?" He asked.

"I had to go."

"Go where?"

People are truly slow these days.

"I had to pee." I said, and laid back down.

"Oh. Duh." He poked at the embers of the fire with his sword.

"Ya know, I was born around the end of World War two." He said. "I was in Italy, about three or four years before it was over. I don't remember much...My father, Hades, made sure that I was dipped in the River Lithe, along with my sister so our memories would be wiped."

"I met a Jew from Italy in one of the camps. I don't know which one it was…but I remember talking to them. They showed me a picture of a little boy and a little girl, and said it was there neice and nephew, and that both were escaping to America. I called him a liar, and told him it was impossible for anyone to leave the country. I was so bitter back then….Never getting enough food or water, always in pain and being tired and worked to the point where some of us would just drop dead." I said. I rubbed my arms, trying to warm up a little.

"I let them take my family. I didn't even fight back. I watched them take my father to the gas chambers, I let them take my mother away from me….I left Mr. Frank in the sick bay just because I was afraid of the Nazis. And then I survive the walks, the beatings, the illnesses, only to exhaust myself." I sighed, and rolled so I was facing it. "And no one came to help. The Allies didn't come fast enough to get to my camp. Three days….I died three days too soon. I could've been saved, I could've lived and got some peace. But no. It never works that way."

We talked a little longer about pointless things, before I tried to go back to sleep. But the nightmares kept coming. This one was the worst.

_It was raining all day. The ground was all mud, and my clothes were soaked through. The Nazis all had warm clothing and were hats that kept the rain out of their face. I was tired. My legs were shaking terribly, and I had stopped about three times already and found myself swaying because I was so dizzy. The dogs would bark at me, and I would get back to work. Digging a hole for the dead. Again and again, that's what they had me do. But then I heard someone yell at me, and I looked up. _

"_Sie! Komm mit mir! Ich habe eine andere Arbeit für dich. " A solider snapped. 'You! Come with me! I have a different job for you' was what he told me. I climbed out of the hole, and left the shovel down there. He kicked me to the ground when I got up there, laughed, and then yelled at me to get off the ground. I followed him to a place near the barracks. He told me to go collect the dead bodies from inside, put them on the cart, and then pull the cart to the ovens on the other side of the camp. _

_So I started to pull out the bodies. It took so much effort to pull such thin, broken bodies. I piled bodies on the cart, and then me and three others began to pull. We repeated this three times. I could barely stand up now. I was dizzy. Dehydration had taken over, despite all the water falling from the sky. The mud only made it worse. The wheels would get stuck, and my feet would slip. The only good about the mud is if you were to walk around barefoot, the mud soothes the blisters, and feels good between your toes. _

_I might as well say that it's April 11, 1945. I'm in Maughausen work camp. _

_My legs burned as we piled the last body onto the cart, and started to pull. There was only two of us now. We pulled to the building where the ovens were, and began to put them in. We have grown so used to it, that neither of us felt any emotion toward it. The smell was terrible. The pain was unbearable. The last body was lifted by the other one. We pulled the cart back to the barracks, and then I couldn't make it any more. My legs gave out under me, and I fell. I tried to stand back up as I saw the Nazis headed over, but I couldn't. It hurt too much. I was sure I was dead…they didn't want a useless Jew to feed._

_I was shaking, and I kept trying to get up. They told me to stop moving. I obeyed. I had no free will left. I only free in my mind. I tried to hide my fear, but it didn't work. I didn't want to die. I wanted to know if the others were alive. I know Father died, but what about Mother? And Anne and Margot and their parents? How close were the Allies to the camp? It couldn't be far now…It had to be soon! I felt a few tears come loose, and I tried to wipe them away, but I was pulled to my feet and pushed forward roughly. They brought me to the sick barracks. It was a relief almost. We may get less food then before, and less water, but rest….we were able to rest. I laid down in the first clean spot I could find. I was lucky it was one of the bed. The floor was often covered in human waste and vomit. _

_The water still seeped through, and it was cold in there, but I was off my feet. I was laying down, and able to sleep. But then again, we never really sleep anymore…_

_My dream skipped a few days. It was May 5__th__, 1945. I was in unbelievable pain. It had rained for two days, and now it was sunny. The sick barracks were humid, smelled of dead things and vomit and human waste, and I was stiff as an old horse. I think I got the flu that the guy next to me had. I was so weak…I was in so much pain…and so tired…But the Allies must be close! They must be so close…more Jews came in today, so they must be close! But I felt myself getting weaker by the hour. I heard the Germans yelling outside, demanding things get done and threatening us all. By noon, I could barely find the strength to blink. I felt someone steal my socks. Someone else took my shirt, and they weren't very gentle about it. _

_I saw a Nazi come in, his gun loaded and aimed…_

I jerked awake, sitting up quickly and shaking horribly. The gun was new. They hadn't had a gun when I died. I had died of exhaustion, and then they burned my body. There was no gun…I looked around frantically, expecting to see skeletons with skin walking around, mud on the floor, and soldiers with weapons. But then I remembered where I saw. Nico and Bo looked over at me. 

"Nightmares?" Nico guessed. I nodded, and rubbed my eyes. I felt died tears.

"You were crying in your sleep for a while. We didn't know if we should wake you or not." Bo said.

"Don't bother. It's the same thing every night." I groaned, and laid back down. "One nightmare after another."

"Here," Nico dug through his backpack, and I glanced at him. He took out a small white jar with little words on it, and took out two pills. "Sleeping Pills. You shouldn't go into camp so tired. It just makes it ten times worse."

He handed me the sleeping pills and a water bottle, and I swallowed both the pills before laying back down. I was out cold in seconds, fast asleep. And this time, there were no nightmares.

**There is no actual remains left of Peter. They never found his body, and they don't know what exactly caused his death, but believe it might have been exhaustion. Also, there is no proof of what his number was, so I made one up. The German is probably wrong, because I used google translate. **

**Review please!**


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